Angi Aymond

Let’s begin with a confession.

I am not a horticulturist. I am not a great gardener. I am not even a very good plant grower. Sometimes, I get lucky, though.

Late in March, feeling brave with the arrival of spring, I bought lots of flowers. Some for my flower beds; some to enjoy in pots and hanging baskets. And after a labor of love, each little bloomer was tucked nicely into place.

Both the front and back yards had enough color to elicit pure joy as I would gaze out the window.

Because, as I have already confessed, I am not a very good gardener, I had promised myself to be better at caring for all these flowers. Intentional. Not haphazard, my usual MO.

(I’ll insert at this point, a three-week period of unplanned medical trauma for the number one man in my life. It was three weeks of haphazard.)

But eventually, a new normal found me. I did a little googling to find out how to best care for my petunias because I had little experience. What I found out was petunias like water. Lots of water. And they like a little extra attention once a week in the form of fertilizer.

That shouldn’t have been too much to ask of myself.

Every day I would water them. I would take them off their hooks so I could feel their weight. “They should feel heavy,” I was told. So, heavy they would be.

On Mondays I would hit them with that beautiful blue water to fertilize them; feed them.

Friends, in late April, May and early June I had glorious petunias! I felt like a first-time mother to whom God had given an easy child, making me think I was the best mother on the planet. The blooms were remarkable. Pure joy. “I am so good at this,” may have danced around in my head.

But as the days lingered, my petunias began looking sad. Lanky. Yes, I probably missed a day here and there, but surely, they could overcome a smidgeon of my post-menopausal brain.

Nope. Sitting on my back porch, I stared at my gangly petunias. I had failed them. And in return, they me.

Petunias crave water. They must have water. Sufficient water. Occasional food, but consistent, constant water.

And a little voice said to me, “You too.

Now, I am very careful to not use the words “God told me,” or “the Lord spoke to me.” Some people do not like it when you say such things. So, I’ll say this: A thought came to me. I entertained it. That thought prompted me to open my Bible to the book of John, chapters four and seven. And, swiping to the left to find Jeremiah 2:13.

Living water.

After digging, I found that the term ‘living water’ might be defined differently in each above reference. But there is no mistaking that God is the living water. Jesus is the living water. The Holy Spirit is this living water. Fountains. Wells. Streams.

My thoughts continued. And while I will spare you, my sweet friends, from the crazy trails and rabbit holes I may have wandered, I will leave you with a few spiritual insights gleaned from my pitiful petunias.

The Bible is a beautiful feast set before us. Some of us are great spiritual eaters. We love good food. We take our Bible studies seriously. We sign up every time. We show up every week. Prepared. Colored pencils in hand.

Others of us, well, we’d rather snack. Eat off the end of another’s fork, so to speak. The Bible intimidates us, so we just kind of nibble here and there.

(I’m sure you know which type best describes you.)

Eaters, be careful. Sometimes, we can consume much knowledge of scripture without digesting it fully. We get puffed up. Not with indigestion, but with pride.

Non-eaters, choose to eat more. Start off small. The Bible is for you, too. Don’t be afraid to try some solid food from your own fork. You cannot live on that bottled milk forever.

Food is nourishing and needed for growth. Physically and spiritually. (Did I just quote Captain obvious?)

But here’s what I gleaned from my unsettling moment.

My petunias required food weekly for best bloom production. For healthy foliage and visible fruit. But they needed water every day. Lots of water. To survive.

Both are important. Don’t hear me say otherwise. But I can honestly confess that I have been engaged with Bible study while not practicing His presence. Not drinking from His well.

I have also been guilty of the opposite. Spending time with God through the Holy Spirit. Day after day, just wanting to be in His presence. Suddenly, one day, I realize how long it has been since I picked up my Bible to learn something new. Read something I have read before, and yet discover a hidden gem.

I realize how long it’s been since I’ve read a book or chapter I’ve previously ignored because it was boring or hard. Or confusing

Physical food and water serve different purposes. Spiritual food and water do as well. But they are not the same.

If I were to go out on a limb and say one is more important, (opening myself up to all sorts of mayhem) I would say, from personal experience, time spent with Jesus is more important. And here’s why.

When I spend time with Jesus, He always, always nudges me back to the Bible. When my heart is engaged, my mind is a safe place to trust with more information.

However, when I get deep into intellectual study, it is a temptation for me to live in my head instead of my heart.

Too often, I start looking for solutions and answers, connections and clues rather than looking for Jesus. I might even be looking to be right.

And then pride finds me. I puff up. And when pride finds its way into my heart, it’s easy to give lip service to Jesus. And do you know what lip-service to Jesus gets me?

A hanging basket full of dead blooms.

Friends, we won’t thrive without feasting on His word, but we can’t survive without drinking from fountains of Living Waters.